


Saltwater

by Tired_Penguin



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Could be read as platonic but come on, Episode: s01e23 The Shadow War!, Episode: s02e13 Friendship Hates Magic!, Episode: s02e19 A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!, F/F, Uh... Not sure how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tired_Penguin/pseuds/Tired_Penguin
Summary: Webby did not cry. But when she did, she did not cry in vain.------Wrote this originally after watching A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill and thinking "huh, tears have occurred a good few times in Webby and Lena's relationship" so then I wrote this. It's kinda just a collection of moments between Webby and Lena in the series, but from a slightly different perspective.
Relationships: Webby/Lena - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Saltwater

Her tears burned like acid, her cheeks flushed from adrenaline, and fear, and hurt. Welling cascades of saltwater gathered in her eyes threatening to burst like a dam, crushing everything in its path.

But Webby did not cry.

Webby moved.

She flew forward, every ounce of trained calculated vigor and strength colliding with Magica’s shield, maneuvering around her defense at racing speeds because She. Killed. Her. 

And she would pay if it was the last thing Webby did.

Because it was the last thing Lena did.

And she would not die in vain.

\---------------------------------------------

She was gone.

Webby was a smart girl. She knew this. Lena was gone, evaporated, shattered and atomised before her very eyes by the women that she had still called her aunt. 

Lena was gone. 

But Webby did not mourn. 

Webby had never mourned. Not when she came to the realization that her parents were probably dead. Not when she learned that her first friends had suffered the same tragedy. Not when the man she had looked up to all her life looked her dead in the eyes and told her she was not family.

Webby had never mourned. 

But she did.

She took one day; only one. The first day after Magica had been defeated, she sat on the floor of the attic, the furthest place from everyone else in the home, laid down on the ever so slightly splintered floor, 

And cried. 

She cried until the floor was stained with it, she cried until her eyes were raw, until her tightened hands stung from being pounded into the wooden planks, until her face burned and stung and ached, until her voice went raw from screaming her name, and until her heart felt empty, until it had been run dry, utterly spent from having every drop of pain poured out in pure saltwater from her eyes. 

For one hour, and one hour only, Webby mourned. 

For one hour, for sixty minutes, for three thousand six hundred seconds, for three million six hundred thousand milliseconds exactly, Webby mourned. And once that time had passed, she stood up, wiped her eyes, changed her tear soaked clothes, and moved. 

Webby would not mourn. 

Because Lena was not gone.

The others had expected her to mourn. Granny had come to her that night to hold her before she went to sleep, but Webby did not cry then. The boys had asked her if she was okay, but Webby did not cry then. Uncle Scrooge had come to her to tell her that if she needed a shoulder to cry on, he was there for her, but Webby did not cry then.

She would not mourn. She could not mourn. If she did, it would consume her. It would swallow her whole, incapacitate her, freeze her in sorrow and guilt and regret. She couldn’t afford that. 

There were things to be done. Books to be read. Magic to be studied.

Webby did not mourn. 

Webby moved.

\---------------------------------------------

Lena mourned.

She had never been especially sentimental, but she mourned. It surprised her, actually. It wasn’t like Webby had died. She was right there in front of her, still pink and bright and alive.

But Lena mourned. 

She mourned when no matter how hard she yelled Webby couldn’t hear her. She mourned when Webby faded through her like she wasn’t even there, because she wasn’t there, and she would never be. She mourned when she couldn’t hold Webby’s hand like she had always resisted but now missed so much. 

When Webby got up the next morning and went about without any expression on her face, Lena mourned for her. 

When Webby went up to the attic and closed every single possible door on the way up, when she cleared out a spot on the floor, the very same spot where they had sat together, Lena mourned for her. 

And when Webby collapsed on the wooden planks, lay her head to the floor, and cried more then she probably ever had before, Lena cried with her. 

For that hour that was both too long and too short, they cried. But where Webby cried with saltwater, Lena cried with inky liquid black. Webby’s liquid tears soaked into the splintered wood, and Lena’s gathered in a pool of shadow at her hands. It clung to her like tar and it was cold as death. It held her feathers like honey and it burned like the sting of an open wound. For three days after, the mire stayed with her, never once falling from her hands. 

Lena wished so desperately that she could cry with saltwater. 

\---------------------------------------------

When Lena returned, Webby cried. 

Only for a moment, only for one fleeting instance when she hugged her, and she was sure that neither Lena nor Violet even saw it, but she cried. Not the way she had before, but with elation. 

And when she saw her fading, and she was sure that she was going to lose her again after having finally reunited with her, Webby cried. 

Her tears gathered in the same way they had the very first time she watched Lena die, and again she felt it burn at the edges of her vision, but she couldn’t cry. Not then. Because at least she had seen her...one last time.

She hated calling it the last. 

It made her burn to call it the last. 

But it wasn’t. 

Because Webby did not mourn.

And she would never mourn.

That was not what Webby Vanderquack did.

\---------------------------------------------

Webby did not cry.

Webby fought.

Webby would always fight. She would always fight for what she believed in, and even more than that, Webby would always fight for her friends.

Lena was her friend.

And so Webby fought.

Her fingers burned from stress and strain, her arms ached from being pulled on both ends, but still she fought. And Webby did not cry from the pain, and Webby did not cry because she mourned, and Webby did not cry because she missed, and Webby did not cry even from joy. 

Webby cried for her friend. Webby cried for knowing what she had been wrestling with all throughout the night. Webby cried for knowing everything she had been through and the fears that had been coursing in her mind.

And Webby’s tears burned with a passion that she would not let her be controlled by that fear. Ever. Again. 

Saltwater boiled with conviction and determination. It seethed with every bit of her heart, and scalded as she blinked, short and suddenly, never once taking her eyes off Lena. 

Blistering tears flew off her face,

And landed on Lena’s beak as soft as a raindrop.

Because Webby did not cry.

And when she did, she did not cry in vain.

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty short, and I'm not entiiiiirely proud of it, but here it is for ya'll! Love ya'll, have a good day. Here's a cookie.


End file.
